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The first few days after the incident were spent flickering on and off in Shok.wav's kennel. Someone had shown some anonymous mercy, moving Vox's head from the doghouse to his tower while he was unable to power on. The small gift of dignity quickly felt like the opposite: Vox had been stashed away to collect dust.
In his state, he hardly noticed how the days stretched into weeks. There came a serendipitous day when he remained conscious for more than a few minutes. If his powers worked, he was unable to use them. The voice-controlled assistant in the room seemed to be shut off, along with the rest of the power. He resorted to calling out names, every one he could think of. Nobody heard. Nobody came.
After a few hours, from the depths of the aquarium, his first visitor appeared.
Shok.wav was truly the best shark. To others, he may have seemed little more than a dangerous machine, but Vox found him adorable. He was overwhelmed with affection at the mere sight of his pet. With no one around to criticise, he surrendered to the tears. It didn't matter that he couldn't wipe the watermarks off his screen. Vox cried shamelessly as he cooed praise at his baby.
The glass of a tank had never been so cruel, but it was a wall Vox had chosen to put up. Shok.wav had been thoroughly taught to never break the glass. He was allowed to wreak havoc almost anywhere else – encouraged even – but if Vox wanted him at arm's length, that was to be respected. Now, Vox didn't have an arm to reach out, let alone a hand to press against the glass. He could hardly see through the streaks his tears left.
Despite the uncrossable line, Shok.wav remained at Vox's side from night to morning. That same morning, he got his second visitor. She had just woken up, made evident by the silk bonnet and night-robe. As always, she was absorbed in the small screen between her fingers. The light was like a torch in the dark room.
"Velvette! Am I glad to see you!"
She looked up. The deep rise and fall of her chest stood out to Vox, perhaps because it had been so long since he had felt air in his own lungs. Her blank expression left much to be desired, but Vox was glad to be seen.
Not sparing him a word, Velvette moved her attention to the tank.
"Ethan's been looking all over for you. It's time for walkies."
Shok.wav wagged his tail excitedly but stayed put. He turned an expectant eye to his owner.
"Go take a walk with Ethan, Shokky. Daddy'll be okay."
The shark was fast, and faster when excited. Vox would've liked him to show a bit more hesitation, but he was an animal at the end of the day, and had needs that Vox couldn't meet.
More tears burned behind his eyes, threatening to make an appearance, but Vox was determined to win the battle. At least, while he had company.
Velvette's gaze went straight back to her phone once Shok.wav was gone. Dividing her attention between furious typing and walking to the door made her slow.
"You're leaving?"
"Uh-huh," she muttered.
"Wait! Don't go!"
She stopped for a moment and kissed her teeth. Her eyes remained glued to her phone, and her typing got even more aggressive. The brief moment of relief it gave Vox was stolen as she took another step away.
"I'm– I'm sorry," he said.
Her eyes snapped onto his. She had even stopped typing.
"Could you get me a microfibre from the desk?"
Although she scoffed, Velvette shoved her phone into a pocket and spun around, going deeper into his domain. It was a rare occasion that he saw her in his bedroom, especially in the early hours. Vox watched her silhouette move across the skyline that glowed through the window. It was straight out of a painting. If only he could grab his phone, he would sneak a photo, adding another candid to his collection. A tear got past his defences and rolled down his screen.
To Vox's delight, Velvette sat beside him on the bed. Her eyes were lamps in the room's darkness.
"You look like shit," she said, gently rubbing the cloth against his screen.
"Yeah, well. I feel like shit."
"As you should."
"Hey, I said I was sorry, didn't I?"
Velvette only pouted. Even though she was being soft, anger radiated off her body.
"Well, umm... This is the first time someone's come up here. So..." Vox took a deep breath. "Thank you."
She rolled her eyes. "This is not the first fucking time someone's come to see you. Jesus Christ."
"...Really?"
"How d'you reckon you got here in the first place? Grow a pair of legs and lose 'em again, did you?"
Velvette blew dust off his attenae, sending a chill through Vox's systems. He must've winced, because she let out a cackle right after.
"We came to see you every day in the beginning. Val would be cooped up in here for hours. We couldn't sit around waiting for you to come online forever, but you know, we check up now and then."
A wave of guilt washed over him. Of course, those two wouldn't just ditch him. What did it say about Vox that he assumed they were so fickle?
"How's Val?"
"Busy."
"With...?"
The dark look on her face was concerning. Velvette avoided eye contact and continued to polish the more stubborn tear marks in silence until some secret thought made her crack a smile.
"Work."
Vox sighed in relief. The Vees were dependable as ever.
"Give him a call for me, would you? My powers aren't working and, you know – no hands. Speaking of hands, what happened to my body? You guys find it yet?"
"Dog ate it."
Vox's face dropped. "What?!"
"Your assistant said Shok.wav was trying to get it back to you, so don't be cross with the fish."
Velvette tossed the fibre in his face. She had finished polishing, Vox's vision was clear, and she was ready to leave without a farewell. In an instant, she went back to whatever keyboard war she had been in when she arrived and bounced up to leave.
"So I'm stuck like this forever?"
She gave him a once-over, eyes brimming with pity, and let out a huff. "I suppose it won't do."
And that was it. There was no solution put forth, no plans for future meetings, and no real update on Valentino. Velvette left as casually as she entered.
Finally awake, Vox was left alone with his thoughts.
He expected Valentino to burst through the door soon enough. The honeyed cadence of his voice would glide through the air, preceded by the intoxicating haze from his cigarette. He would peacock around the room in some raunchy getup, teasing as always. Val would swear up and down that he was keeping 'all that' from Vox until he learned his lesson, and say it loud like an audience was watching. The sugarglass facade would shatter the instant that Vox put pleasure from his still-functioning tongue on the table. Val would give in easily as always, not because Vox had any control over his mind, but because the moth demon never denied his heart.
Vox expected it.
He waited. He tweaked the story in his head and started muttering the lines he would drop to himself. The sky cycled through all its red shades. Shok.wav returned to sleep near the glass. Vox himself dozed off. The next day was the same, except he had no guests in the morning, nor did he have any in the afternoon or evening. The day after, the power came back on, but the home system had been meddled with, making phone calls impossible. All Vox could really do was watch TV. The irony was torture.
The news ran stories about Valentino now and then. The work keeping him so busy turned out to be his new role as VoxTek CEO. Surely, that was his job in name only; he couldn't possibly take responsibility for the whole conglomerate by himself.
Vox thought that knowing that he was relatively well would provide some relief, but it didn't. If Val was okay, he should've been right there in the room with him.
Time usually breezed by for sinners, but Vox was painfully aware that the weeks had stacked into two months. At some point, he tried having conversations with the AI in the home system, but it was an uncanny copy of his voice, gaslighting him about the dumbest things. On top of it being annoying as fuck, it was the most disturbing madhouse mirror. Was he just as insufferable when telling his white lies and trying to win a conversation? Every jagged interaction from the past few years had ample time to jump to the front of his mind to stab him again as he brooded on the answer.
Vox's screen was dirty from the many nights he cried himself to sleep. His dreams were filled with distorted versions of the few things that his subconscious latched onto. Sometimes he had nightmares, which usually involved losing sight of someone in unbreathable oceans of people. He would wake up gasping for air, having fallen face-first into the sheets in his slumber. Vox had thankfully built the strength to flip himself upright.
His normal dreams were the wonderlands they had been since birth. So often, Vox's mind would paint a scene of daybreak on a beach. He dreamed of himself as a human, with two others and a shark fin peeking over the waves. Their appearances never remained consistent, nor did they look much like demons. But he knew Velvette and Valentino when he saw them.
They were doomed never to meet on Earth. Even if they did, without their overlord sensibilities, they wouldn't notice one another. But maybe, in another life, they would have been... something. Something purer than the endlessly demonic ménage à trois they fell into in Hell.
Vox had nothing but time to imagine it.
One day, the door whirred open. Vox's antennae perked up in anticipation.
There was no click of heels, as he had expected. The footsteps were padded like fluffy slippers and too light to belong to a ten-foot-tall demon.
Yet again, it was Velvette, donning fashionable nightwear. But it had barely turned evening. Vox exhaled heavily, trying his best not to let disappointment get the better of him.
No, no, no. This was a good thing. Velvette seemed to have something for him as she made a blue garment protector levitate in tow. Of course, he had no body to wear the design, but Vox welcomed the company. Even arguing was an attractive prospect.
"You are a sight for sore eyes, my dear."
"Don't speak."
"Oh, come on. You left me here by myself for months. Why even come if you don't wanna talk?"
She stopped sharply at the foot of his bed. Her face was scrunched up with disdain.
If she wasn't open to conversation, Vox would try another route. "Where's Valentino?"
Velvette continued to glare. Her eyelashes fluttered with fury, but she was otherwise motionless. Usually, she would yell some retort, but she silently eyed him until her gaze darted above his head. Her thoughts were a party next door: loud enough that Vox knew she was thinking them, but too muffled by their separation to hear clearly.
Velvette finally peered down with a more neutral gaze. More neutral – it was still vibrantly colored by disdain. She said nothing as she unzipped the garment protector. She said nothing when a vaguely person-shaped sack fell out.
It was headless.
She heaved it onto the bed, cursing at its weight. Its scent was salty, a little damp and, for a reason Vox tried desperately to remember, nostalgic. Whatever the memory was, it was too distant to recall.
"What is that?"
"Shut up."
Silence could be no crueller. Vox knew Velvette well enough to tell the difference between her lashing out instinctively, a warm heart with cold words, and the times when she really meant what she said.
She was being earnest.
"If this is meant to be my new body, I'd rather be a talking head."
Velvette moved him so he faced the ceiling, and the screen's casing touched the sack's neck.
"Does Val know I'm awake?"
The stare returned. After a beat of contemplation, Velvette sighed.
"Yep."
Before Vox could open his mouth to question further, Velvette rapidly pressed the lower volume button on the side of his screen.
It didn't make sense. When it came to the Vees, there was no secret too dear, no truth too hideous. They had all carved countless scars into one another and seen the raw flesh and bone inside, in all its monstrosity. What could Valentino be up to that needed to be so secret?
Velvette climbed onto the bed to kneel behind Vox. Her gaze was fixed on the sack body, denying Vox eye contact. She placed her hands on Vox's screen and closed her eyes. Her hold was delicate enough that he wouldn't break, but still nerve-wracking. He had no choice but to accept whatever she subjected him to, even if it hurt. Bracing for additional pressure, Vox squeezed his eyes shut.
Instead, her palms remained light. Velvette began chanting in some extremely syllabic language. It sounded more like she was reading a phone book than reciting words. Vox dared to open one eye and, in his peripheral vision, saw the magenta aura of her magic.
A sudden jolt of pain surged through Vox. It was a familiar feeling: electricity seizing his being, every nerve firing, the drumroll of heart palpitations.
It was death by electrocution.
Velvette's chant got faster and more aggressive, as if she were fighting something. As Vox's mind faded in and out, her voice remained an anchor. He endured with muted whimpers. His body jerked against the weight of her magic.
His body.
Vox came to a moment later. Agony consumed him as if he had awoken in a bed of needles. His lungs seemed to be thrashing in quicksand with every breath. Though it hurt, his heart beat fast and heavy, too filled by awe and fear for self-preservation.
Without needing him to say it, Velvette knew he would want to peer down on himself. She hauled him up by the underarms, leaving excruciating pain wherever she touched, and brought his new vessel into view. Vox was terrified that he would find himself tethered to a burlap sack. But he wasn't. His naked body was as he remembered it, gills and all.
It was ironic that, for all his head swapping, his body would not regenerate. Perhaps it was to be expected – he was a TV demon, after all.
"Where's Valentino?" Velvette said in a deep, mock-American accent.
With no sympathy for his pain, she threw Vox down onto his side. She shoved him to face her, straddled him and pressed his shoulders into the bedsheets, impaling them with invisible swords.
"You know his idea was to slap you on a fucking–"
She struck his chest with a hot backhand, using all the force in her body. A tear flew from Vox's eye.
"Robo Fizz!"
She struck again. This time with the bottom of a fist.
"I fucking slave away making you a life-size poppet, filled with kilos of fucking sand, rose quartz, copper, cobalt– A whole leap of other fucking shit—"
She had another hand, all the better to pound the life out of him.
"A THOUSAND fucking shark teeth!"
And another hit.
"From Earth!" she yelled, pulling him up slightly.
She shook him by the shoulders, like a snowglobe, filled with shards of glass. Vox bawled in anguish.
"And all you have to say is'Where's Valentino? How's Valentino? I want Valentino' Wah, wah, wah–"
Velvette chucked him down.
"Fuck you!"
She screamed her lungs out, turning her voice hoarse.
Her doll eyes were wide and made glossier by tears. Blinking them into her lashes, Velvette forbade them from falling. Each breath she took was shaking under its own weight. Eventually, she pulled her face into a blank expression as she fiddled with the volume button again. Vox's sobbing was gradually unleashed into the air.
"Don't even fucking think about saying sorry. Or thanking me," Velvette swallowed thickly before getting off him and sliding off the bed. "They are cheap fucking words. And you ain't fucking welcome."
A few hours later, Vox heard the door engage again. This time, he did hope it was Velvette, so he could try to talk things out. His regret was devastating, to the point that it hurt more than any part of his body did. He had cried himself dry already, but there was a deep, sick feeling in his stomach where his heart had fallen.
"Um... Good evening, sir."
In a way, Vox was grateful it was merely his assistant. He didn't have to pretend to be in a good mood or apologetically downplay his suffering. Certainly, Vox did not need to hide the visceral displeasure Ethan's presence caused.
"Ugh. What the fuck are you doing here, Ethan?"
Vox dedicated his energy to being still. He would not inconvenience himself by attempting to crane his neck to look at Ethan, but the man was still standing at the door, perhaps in the hallway even, giving no hint to his motive.
"Missus Velvette told me to bring you water and this uh, meal replacement shake. She said since you have a body now, you'll need to be eating and drinking."
Vox groaned dramatically. He knew it was grating, but he didn't care. It was only Ethan.
"Go on, then."
"I can... come in?"
"Yes. I hope you brought a straw."
After a few footsteps, Vox heard Ethan choke on his own gasp.
His eyes rolled back. "Let me guess, no straw?"
"Uh– No, I, uh– I have a straw. Two straws, but. Sir, you're... not. Decent."
"Oh, grow up, Ethan. Don't act like you've never seen a dick before. I'm basically paralysed, just bring me the fucking shake. I couldn't do rapey shit to you, even if I wanted to. And I don't want to, trust me. You aren't my type."
From then on, Ethan came once or twice a day to bring the tray of drinks and anything else Vox requested.
He tried to use Ethan as a messenger to the other two Vees, but they were ghosting texts and ignoring calls. A reply came soon enough, though. Ethan brought an official company letter that read, 'Fuck off,' that they had both signed.
Gifts were his next idea, but it was hard to materially impress two of the richest sinners in the Pride ring. Vox knew they loved luxury, but most of all, they enjoyed it when he made plans. Naturally, the experiences he treated them to were always expensive, but were only made so decadent because they were together.
Vox didn't have the ability to chase Valentino and Velvette. All he could do was think harder and ask his assistant to send the few heartfelt gifts that came to mind. One of his gifts to Val was a regular shipment of rose bouquets to his room. Vox knew all too well that the film overlord, despite his porny occupation, was a classic romantic.
But Velvette's tastes, on the other hand, were far less conventional. Vox had Ethan help him digitally stalk her two decades' worth of constant social media posting to get a clue on her particular preference in flowers. Though he had been sending her gifts too, Vox didn't want to seem to be playing favourites with the bouquets. Her last words to him reverberated around his head. Vox wanted to make up for making her feel neglected. There were a few tropical blooms in her potion room's decor, so he had Ethan send some, but Vox was unsure of how much she would really like them.
A couple of weeks later, the pain had faded. The agony had been swapped for weakness, and a sick feeling twisted in his stomach.
The door opened while Vox was trying to drift into a dream. He didn't open his eyes, thinking it was only Ethan.
"Oh, for god's sake– you couldn't even put some fucking pants on?"
His eyes snapped wide. Rather than Ethan, Velvette had brought the tray. Vox tried to sit up, but his limbs were too heavy. He winced as he sank back into the bed.
"I didn't know you were coming."
Velvette sat on the edge of the bed, one leg crossed over the other, back to Vox, and placed the tray on the side table. She was wearing one of the satin slips she wore to sleep, with her hair out in an afro, unmanipulated save for shape. It seemed she had torn yet another day out of her schedule for the visit.
Over the weeks, Vox's thoughts had grown into a jungle. The words were like animals in a zoo, caged and itching to get out. Vox's chest tingled.
But of the many things to say, he didn't know where to start, or where he would go once he began. He wanted her to look at him, but maybe it was best to let Velvette lead. Maybe she would find her way back to him on her own.
"But you were more than ready to give your PA his daily peep show. You couldn't even throw a bloody towel on?" She scoffed as she conjured his boxers onto him. "Zero fucking class."
"You have no idea how much pain I'm in."
"I do fucking know, you prick. I'm the only one that does."
The comment lingered. Vox considered asking her about the company, about the gifts, about Val. It was as she said about his pain, though: Velvette understood him so well that there was no doubt she knew all the questions he would have already. Her foot bounced in agitation. Neither demon challenged the silence.
She finally turned to look him in the eye.
"Get up."
Vox raised a brow. He wanted to be soft with Velvette, but her attitude was impossible to ignore when she had the upper hand.
"Since your body and all its organs should be properly waking up by now, I bet you have a killer stomachache. The shakes were just about food, so. Get up and go to the bathroom."
The realisation struck him like lightning. Panic had no time to set in because acceptance had already pushed it away.
Vox drew out a sigh. "I can't."
"So you're just gonna shit yourself like an infant?"
"I guess."
"You are fucking pathetic."
She dragged him by the arm to get nearer to the table. The friction against the sheets was welcome stimulation for his new body. Velvette's fingers were artificial and silky. They dug into his tricep, squeezing like she intended to burst his veins. Vox was so starved of touch – starved of her – that even violence bewitched him.
With her powers, Velvette made a glass bottle from the tray float and had a garbage can slide from the opposite end of the room. She snatched the bottle from the air and ripped the lid off.
"Since they've gotta come out one way or another, you might as well vomit up the toxins. Open up."
Energised by disgust, Vox jerked his head to the side. "Ew, no."
"Then get off your arse and walk to the bathroom."
With a defeated groan, he shifted his screen back to her. He opened his mouth and let Velvette pour the potion down his throat. The puke burned as it came up. Further proving the shakes to have been working, his reflexes overrode his weakness and had him lurching towards the trash can.
Purple pixels held it closer to his head. Velvette rubbed his spine as everything came out of his system. It had not been as repulsive as Vox imagined, but it was all the more agonising.
When he was done, she held out the cup of water to him.
"Bring it closer," said Vox.
"No. I didn't witch you up a body so I could be your fucking handmaid 'til the end of time. I'm already holding it this close."
Pushing him was the right call. It took a lot of straining, but Vox was able to reach out and hold up the cup himself. Velvette got up and headed for the door. She stopped before leaving, folding her arms and turning around with a sigh.
"Come on, then."
"Huh?" Vox said into the cup as he emptied it.
"Try to walk."
He set the glass down with a trembling arm. The route he had taken so many times without thinking now looked like an uncrossable ocean. Vox couldn't even imagine how he would take the first step, but Velvette had been right about the cup. Maybe the strength she saw in him was truly there.
He struggled to straighten out his hunch as he pulled his body to sit on the side of the bed. With a deep breath, he tried to shift his weight onto one foot, as he had done so many times in the past. Vox's arm jutted out to hold on to the side table for stability. The small victory of getting upright made him overconfident in his next step. He stumbled in an instant.
Velvette was still standing at the door with a cold expression. She made no move to aid him in returning to bed. After a few depressing attempts, Vox was too humiliated to continue.
"A little help?"
"No. Hurry up."
That was all the charity she had to offer. In a way, it was motivation; Vox would have been comfortable with her carrying him to bed like a baby. As long as it took, he eventually clawed his way back onto the mattress. When he was ready to celebrate, Velvette was already gone.
Ethan came the next day. He was much more accommodating than Velvette, but Vox wanted to leave the room and seek her out before her next sporadic visit. Even with his assistant's help, Vox struggled to stay upright.
Between the impromptu physio sessions, scheduled fluids and toxin flushes, Vox continued going through Velvette's social media. He was able to tap away on his laptop by then. In two days of digging, he found a small clue in her earlier posts: a yearly photo of the same white blossom. There was never a caption accompanying it, but Vox had no other leads. It was hard to find a florist sourcing them, but he was determined and identified the only one. Vox ordered an arrangement without hesitating.
All the money in the world, for some reason, could not make the flowers arrive in less than a week.
But, a couple of days after Ethan confirmed they had been delivered, Velvette came to visit. She was preceded by a cart topped with a silver platter. And again, she was wearing sleepwear, but it was evening, even if early, this time.
"Fucking hell, you are minging, ain't ya? It's giving fish."
"Hello."
"Yeah, yeah, stinky. I got a treat for ya," she said, lifting the dome.
The familiar warm, umami scent wafted through the room. Seeing the branded paper bag on the plate, Vox felt the two lines of pixels on his face die of ecstasy.
"Bad Burger?! Holy shit!"
"I know, I know, I'm the best. But snowball's chance in Hell am I coming over there to sit in that funk. Come and get it so I can fuck off."
Vox pressed his lips into a line. His arms were fully mobile, but his legs couldn't be trusted to hold his weight.
The silence was enough for Velvette to understand. She kissed her teeth and started rolling the cart over to the bed.
She recoiled and blew up her cheeks, as if to wretch. "Aw, mate, you really smell like a god-awful case of BV. The stench is fishy, bruv; capital 'F' and all... Oh my days, it's proper rank. Like, dis-gus-ting."
The shark demon grumbled. If he felt any shame, it was only about his lack of embarrassment. On so many occasions, Vox had referred to his living situation as 'playing house' to seem less invested than he was, but in a moment as unflattering and private as this, there was just no denying it: the Vees were his family.
On so many days, Vox had grieved over Velvette's lack of attraction to him, but he could see, now, that it made them closer. Valentino was something like Vox's fiancé, and even after their decades of engagement, there was still a world of anxiety about being appealing enough. If those who couldn't handle his worst didn't deserve his best, Vox was terrified that he might find out Valentino wasn't worth the heartache. So, he always kept some distance, as much as it pained him. In fact, it was particularly that they weren't locked in that kept Vox yearning and made him so self-conscious: Val could fly away at any moment. For good.
And every time Vox woke up in the morning, since the incident, he was nauseated by the possibility that the moment had arrived.
But it was almost impossible to feel truly humiliated by Velvette anymore. At some point, maybe a couple of years or so into their friendship, Vox realised that he had always been unimpressive to her. Yet, she stuck around and had an unshakeable confidence in him. It wasn't exactly that she was loyal – she had no qualms about double-crossing him when she felt it necessary – but more that she just seemed to like being around. Vox couldn't say he had ever encountered someone who could be so critical, and yet... satisfied.
"Well, take your burger. I'm not fucking feeding you."
Vox reached over and dove into the bag. The starchy scent of fries crept up when the bag was fully open, which brought them to the top of the eating queue. And a can of lemonade cooled the bottom of the bag, wet with condensation and threatening to tear through the paper.
Velvette knew what he liked. Their preferences overlapped in most areas; social media and media's kindred nature was likely responsible for the familiarity and acceptance she had for him. Vox imagined that having a sister would've brought this comfort.
Being estranged from the dopamine of truly eating for the past few months, the sensation of salty, oily carbs in his mouth was sending him to another plane. It seemed impossible for him to ever feel happier. By all means, the food was better than sex. And Vox was really thinking about it for comparison.
...And thinking about sex made him reconsider the 'sister' designation he had given Velvette. As complicated as whatever it was between them could be, Vox was glad they didn't share any blood, so his feverish yet unrequited attraction to the doll wasn't an even worse case of degeneracy. The uncomfortable thought managed to be soothing.
And despite the insults, Velvette still sat beside him. She used her powers to summon a cigarette from Vox's drawer. Velvette was only an occasional social smoker and, usually, embodied the culture's sharing spirit. Her decision not to offer Vox anything was deliberate. Since his mouth was occupied anyway, he caved in and, out of habit, sparked her up with his finger. To his surprise, it was successful, but took all his energy – a reminder of how far he had fallen.
"We just had the quarterly with the investors. I thought you might wanna know how it went."
Still chewing, Vox murmured affirmative.
"The lines are down."
He choked. "Which ones?"
"All of them, really."
Vox's stomach flipped.
"Oh, except costs and expenses," she took a drag with a wicked grin on her lips, "that's up. Big time."
Chasing the hormonal highs of eating, Vox defied the fluttering warning in his stomach and kept stuffing his face. "And the fucking good news?"
"I guess the good news would be that we've got some time before we're completely fucked. Val managed to keep our biggest investors roped in, for the time being, with an orgy. You know what those pervs are like. But we did lose a few, mainly 'cause Voxflix keeps falling off the app chart."
"The fuck? How?"
"Val has a big project in pre-production, so he's been shifting money around."
It was like clockwork for Val to come to Vox, asking for a bump up on his budgets. VoxTek's founder was flexible if he thought an idea was halfway decent, especially when Valentino was using sex to negotiate. Still, there were lines the CEO in Vox couldn't cross, no matter how tempting Val's bedroom manner was. Over the years, porn proved to be the most profitable: pornos were cheap, but made bank from sinners' universal addiction to masturbating. So that was where they had started to funnel all the money.
Back in the day, Val, Vox and the pop music overlord, Zeezi, teamed up on music videos and their distribution to bring Alastor to his knees, but those days were decades behind them. Once Velvette got video-based social platforms going, there was no money in music videos, so they left Zeezi holding that bag. The shift had Val's studio one-tracked to porn. Of course, sometimes they got liberal with finances for style reasons; Vox knew it could be a good thing in moderation.
But, at the end of the day, porn was meant to be cheap. It was meant to make fast, easy cash; production was definitely NOT supposed to be so expensive that it held up the infinite growth that any corporation worth its salt called for. The line was never meant to plateau, let alone go down.
"How much fucking money are we talking...?"
With her powers, Velvette flashed up the charts for him to see. She accompanied it with a verbal rundown, and the numbers came out like cannonballs. Fuck, was it ugly. Vox growled in exasperation, but took a deep breath.
"Okay. Welp. He's done it now. It can't get much fucking worse."
"Oh, it can, babe," Velvette said with a smirk, tapping ashes off her cigarette, right onto Vox's sheets, "he's planning to start mass layoffs tomorrow to address the issue of expenses – company-wide, not just his division. Technically, we'll be spending less overall, but productivity will be lower with a skeleton crew, no matter how hard we work 'em."
"Which means we'll be making less across the board. Fuck."
"Right. And, mind, the island ain't finished construction yet. Film and screen is more you man's side of things, so I don't know the specifics of typical procedure, but I'm pretty fucking sure he's not meant to be building an island yet. What the total budget for the movie will be is anyone's guess, and it's gonna take some serious marketing to get bums on seats for this, since it's not porn. But I don't quite need to bust out the crystal ball to see it's gonna be bleeding expensive "
Once her words had truly processed, Vox pinched two fingers at the base of his attenae and clenched his eyes shut. "I'm sorry... Is this not a fucking porno?"
"It's Val, so I'm sure there'll be a few sex scenes, but... nah. Not a porno. And he wants it to be a theatre-only run, which isn't gonna help Voxflix's case, but it is what it is," Velvette sighed. "Charge it, I guess."
"And you're letting him do this?!" Vox outbursted in refusal to 'charge' anything at all to the game; someone had to be responsible.
"Oh, give me a break," she sucked in and puffed. "The fuck am I supposed to do?"
"Fucking talk to him?! Hello???"
Velvette cackled dismissively. "Talk to Val? When he's in a shit mood, in charge of everything, and on a fucking mission? You and I both know there's absolutely fuck all I can do about his tantrums. And that's when things are normal! Matter of fact, wrangling the bastard is supposed to be your job!"
"Obviously, I can't do that right now, Velvette. Could you not have tried a little fucking harder?" he yelled.
"Tried harder– ha! That is rich coming from the piss baby who's not bloody tried to get up and clean himself, meanwhile he smells like a fucking fishmonger's in the arsecrack of August!"
"Fuck you, I'm fuckin' disabled over here! Because a couple of shitbirds had the bright idea of beheading me–"
"Oi!"
With her free hand, Velvette picked up a flat platter from the cart and whacked him with it. Hard. The clang bounced from his chest around the walls of the room. So did Vox's cry of pain. The bruise that would raise later was already brewing in his blood vessels.
"Don't even fucking start, you cunt," she snapped, chucking the tray back.
A shake of the head seemed to rattle a new venomous thought to the front of her mind. She licked her teeth and scoffed with an enraged smile.
"I mean, have you actually fucking tried getting up?" she pressed, voice pitched up in outrage. "Fucking 'ell! Do you genuinely have it in your tapped fucking head that I spent two months of my life making you a body that wouldn't even bloody work? Fuck off. You know what? Get up. Get up!"
She snatched the burger out of Vox's hand and tossed it to the cart before kicking it away. Velvette jumped to her feet and spun around, hands on her hips, to shoot a disapproving glare. It wasn't shame, but Vox did feel small.
"I was eating that."
"The eel told me you've been doing physio. You should've been off the bench ages ago. Fucking bathe and get back to work, you twat."
"I– 'Physio' is overselling it a little, okay? It was just Ethan–"
"Ugh, you're a fucking joke. So, what, you've just been moping this whole time? You are such a pathetic cunt of a man, I swear."
She took another drag, inhaling the smoke with the same dependency as someone drowning and coming up for air. Her next breath out was long, like she wanted to expel every toxin in her chest. Velvette then observed the cigarette between her fingers, the way she did when she was suffering without her phone and would use her nails as a distraction.
"Alright. I actually don't give a toss what you were getting up to with your cunt of an assistant. Get off your arse, now."
Vox grunted, but obliged. Either he would fail, and prove to her that he wasn't hiding from work (it irritated him that she would even say that about him, when his work ethic was one of his best qualities), or Velvette was right, as she so often was, and her 'pep talk' would be all Vox needed to come back to his life.
He stood. She took a step back. He took a step on his dominant side. She took another step back. His weaker leg held up with the next step. Then, slowly, Vox took another. His face lit up as he realised how much easier it was than anticipated. The next came naturally. Vox's eyes darted to Velvette, and even her face had softened. Slightly.
But a few feet from the bed, his body got heavy, like a wave surging against his efforts. Vox tried to push through, but his leg was trembling. With one more step, his muscles gave out, and he collapsed. His whole body ached with exhaustion, causing tears to brim in his eyes.
Velvette watched him on the floor for a while, savouring her cigarette.
She wandered off to the ensuite. The sound of running water leaked through the door. It was a while before she popped out again. Vox remained on the floor, body stinging as though he had fallen on a thousand glass fragments. The small rush of relief at the sight of Velvette quickly dissipated when she walked straight past him and toward his desk. She went for another cigarette and a lighter.
After a puff that clearly hit the spot, given how she was shaking her head, Velvette did come back around. Without a word, she snatched Vox by the underarms, pressing the metal of the lighter painfully into his shoulder, and dragged him along the floor. She stepped on his jumble of limbs every other step.
"Ow! You're hurting me."
"Hurting you?" she scoffed, getting rougher with her movements. "Vox, man, do me a favour and just shut the fuck up."
She snapped the clothes from his body so she could chuck him into his circular, drop-in tub. Sloppily. Getting thrown against the hard marble had Vox yelping and panting. Velvette gave a last shove to get him submerged in the water, beneath all the bubbles. She kissed her teeth at the resulting splash that drenched her lower half.
But she didn't freak out and leave. She sat on the edge of the tub, which was large enough to act as a counter, and took a hit of nicotine for her troubles. She oriented herself perpendicular to Vox, giving herself the discretion to look down on him or away as she pleased.
"I'm hurting you..." she repeated.
She poked her cheek with her tongue and shook her head. Her lips parted with a smack, and she forced out a jovial hum that rattled against her vocal cords. Velvette pointed the cigarette at him and shook it, not caring about the ashes dropping into the bath.
"I'll tell you something that actually hurts, Vox," she said, taking her time to collect her thoughts with another drag.
She exhaled. Her eyes peeled away.
"You fucking got up there, and you let the whole bloody world know that you would rather be dead than be with Val and me. And not only did you fucking make a scene in front of the entire Pentagram,"
Despite the warm water, Vox's body filled with ice when Velvette's eyes met his.
"You really fucking meant it."
His body was even heavier, like it was waterlogged. Vox's eyes hardly dared to blink; the organs in his chest slowed their pace to something deathly.
"'Cause you legit just don't care about us. Now that hurts," she hissed, scrunching her face, "That shit fucking hurts, Vox. I know you think Valentino hates you cause you're a self-centred prick who's good for fuck all except feeling sorry for himself... But Val could never hate you, and I know you bloody-well know that. He's avoiding you 'cause he's fucking hurting. Because you hurt him. And I..."
She bit her lip and threw one leg over the other. Then came another huff and puff. Velvette pouted like she was sucking something sour, and her eyes widened with the sheen of light-heartedness. But her demeanour was nothing but rage. Her leg bounced on top of the other.
"I should've let him slap you on the bloody Robofizz. I don't even know why I fucking bothered. You don't give a shit. We've stuck our necks out for you time after time, and it just didn't mean a thing. You. Don't. Care. You fucking said it!"
Vox failed to summon a syllable or even a thought. There was a lump in his throat and a burning in his eyes. A darkness had his entire being in chains. It was a sensation he recognised, but was so far removed from. As if by black magic, Vox had been sent back to that bar in the sixties, trembling with adrenaline as his best friend tore straight into his heart with his fangs.
Velvette's face twitched with disgust as she looked away.
"Fucking Christ. With friends like you, who the hell needs enemies...? It was an angel that saved us from your bullshit, you know? Here were my two options of who I could side with: the pretty little angel who, yeah, don't think we should all just die by suicide bombing, but she does think we are all irredeemable pieces of shit, who should take our chances with bloody genocide every year. And then, on the other side of the ring... you. A fucking traitorous cunt. The most selfish person I've ever had the disgrace of meeting... I mean fuck me, my life would've been just fine if I'd have never fucking met you."
There was nothing else to say. She rested her head on the wall and kept smoking. Vox had stolen all the energy it took to hold herself up.
But at some point, her face changed. She threw the cigarette butt into the water, and Vox watched her features flicker in a way he had never seen. He blinked.
Velvette was crying.
His lips parted. His heart started to race. Vox blinked. In twenty years, he had never noticed a sad tear fall from her eyes. It was a break from reality to witness.
And that he found it so surreal was a devastating realisation for Vox; deep down, he must have really believed his friend was incapable of being this affected by anything. He had been so cruel to think she was unbreakable. In the end, Vox had been the thing to make her fall apart. How much kindness had he withheld because of it? How much torture had she endured at his hands over the years, while he told himself that she could handle it like no other?
Even now, Vox wanted to hug her, but his body refused to budge an inch.
Like a faucet had been turned, tears started pouring from his eyes. Velvette glanced over when he sniffed.
She scoffed through a lop-sided smile. "Look at us. Fucking crybabies. Val's usually the sap out of us three, innit? But it's all different now..."
Her face dropped slowly. She licked her teeth. Her eyes shut as she threw the back of her head against the tiles.
"You fucking ruined it."
Hyperventilation sent Vox's gills from sloth into overdrive.
"I do need you for business, so I can't leave you, but we both know I ain't one to forgive and forget."
She opened her eyes and curled up as she so often did, hugging her legs to her chest. Her gaze found its way back to Vox.
"Ack, what am I gonna do with you?" she mumbled.
Vox crumbled at the eye contact. He struggled to swallow, and his vision fell to the bubbles over his lap. If she thought about it long enough, Velvette would surely come to the same conclusion as he had: she should just leave him. Vox was no good to her, and she really didn't need him as much as she thought. Velvette deserved better.
Following a sigh, she flicked open the cap of the soap bottle. She twisted around to pour it in, and, with her other hand, sent a magic circle into the water. It glowed beneath the dispersing bubbles and spun around, churning air into the suds and fluffing up the soapy clusters that rose like clouds.
"...I got those flowers you sent me. Who told you about princess of the nights?"
Vox's antennae sparked. He tried to reply, but could only get out gibberish to begin with.
"Ugh, fuck me."
"I stalked you!" Vox managed to blurt.
Realising she had emptied the bottle, Velvette shook and tapped it until she ultimately tossed it back where it came from. It was like Vox hadn't spoken at all.
"Did you... Where did you put them?" he asked, knowing better than to ask a question he only wanted one answer to.
"In the bin."
Right after being pulled up for air, Vox's heart was sent straight back down into the depths.
"Wh-what?"
Velvette cackled.
Here it was. Although Vox had been prepared for this – although he had been through this before and promised he would never experience it again – this was the part where his dear friend would drown him. And Vox only had himself to blame.
"Let me tell you 'bout this flower, yeah," Velvette said.
Her magic circle faded, but she kept herself oriented towards Vox, perched like a siren on a rock.
"When I was alive, the days just kind of blurred together. Grey skies, grey city. Shit people. London's the place to be, though, obviously, but... I always wanted to be somewhere else. And of all the holidays I went on, the best weren't even the most expensive or anything."
If before he was too afraid to look at her, now he couldn't pull his eyes away. A soft smile pulled at her lips as she looked down into the bubbles. Her brows remained arched by negativity.
"My best holidays were in this tiny house, with bugs all over the walls, getting jooked up by mosquitoes, sitting on that tatty, fugly sofa in front of my grandma's TV, watching the fucking news, and just, like... talking shit. There was no aircon, bruv: it was hot as fuck. And I'm in this place I know fuck all about, and there's gunshots cracking off and fucking guard dogs running around the neighbourhood in the morning. So, obviously, I'm staying inside. And the fam couldn't afford a bloody computer. You know that shit was hell for me. I mean, I'm literally here, so you know I fucking mean that shit was hell."
Vox huffed in anxious amusement. He was still worried about what she might say, but the story disarmed him. He wanted to hear the rest. And Velvette, usually a woman who used her words critically, was happy to monologue for once.
"Like, I just had to sit there all week, just hot, man, not doing anything. And my family wasn't that big; my cousins were, like... old, or babies. Mostly, it was just the TV keeping me company."
A mirthful whine wavered in Velvette's throat. She moved on quickly.
"Well, one night, I'm sitting there, I can't sleep, and the living room's all blue from the telly, and that, and the crickets and tree frogs and shit are chirping. And it's just, like, constant noise. Like fucking tinnitus. And then, my grandma's old ass comes running in from the back garden with these flowers. I'm thinking: it is way past her bedtime, she shouldn't be out of bed, let alone outside. And then, she's like, 'This flower only blooms once a year, at night, and it's gonna be dead in the morning. And the next time it blooms, you're probably not gonna be here, and I'm a fucking old hag, so... Next time you come, I'm probably not gonna be here to tell you 'bout it either...' She was fucking right, bless her. And I don't know..."
With her index finger, she scooped up some bubbles.
"Seeing that weird flower on the one bloody night – in that, like, what? Four hours that I'd ever have a chance to see it..."
She scoffed. "And I know it's white, now, but... it even looked like a really nice shade of... blue. 'Cause it was dark and... y'know, the TV.... But, yeah, something about it all was just..."
The current between Vox's antennae returned. His chest buzzed in deep relief.
"I guess what I'm saying is, you managed to get one fucking thing right with the flowers."
Vox smiled. A tear ran down his screen. Velvette crossed her arms and turned her back on him.
"Anyway, hurry up and start scrubbing so I can help you get out."